


If My Love Were in My Arms, and I in My Bed Again

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray used to hate rainy mornings.  But the mood that they put Fraser in is starting to change his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If My Love Were in My Arms, and I in My Bed Again

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the bringthehappy fest.

Ray always hated waking up in the morning to the sound of rain. When he was a kid, it would put him in a rotten mood right away, because if it kept up all day, it would mean they couldn't go outside at recess. And he always, always got in trouble sometime during the afternoon if they didn't do outside recess; his dad said he needed to "run his crazies out." Plus when they had inside recess they played stupid quiet calm girly games like tiddlywinks and jacks. (Well, okay, Ray actually dug jacks when he was _really_ little, and he was pretty good at it--he could get up to sevensies most of the time. But it stopped being all right for boys to like it in about third grade, so of course he stopped liking it.)

And then when he was older he'd wake up to the pattering and realize it was going to be a bitch getting anywhere that day, because a motorcycle in a downpour was no fun. Then by the time he could afford a car he was on the force, so he'd wake up groaning at the thought of chasing down perps through a chilly Chicago neck-soaker.

It's still like that on workdays. He slowly, reluctantly gets his eyelids open the barest crack and notes the unpromising grey, low light of the bedroom. He puts that information together...slowly, it's still pre-coffee...with the fact of the staccato taps against the window, the swooshing of the cars outside that tells him the road is half-flooded _again_ , and he whimpers. Because now that he's partnered with Fraser, he's not only going to suffer through an endless foot-chase through freezing puddles today. He's going to have to dive into a dumpster with god-knows-what floating in clammy oily water and get bitten by rare dumpster piranhas, or there's going to be an explosion in a laundry detergent factory and the rain coming through the new hole in the roof is going to leave him looking like the Abominable Soap-Bubble Monster. Or _something_ that's going to end up with him, not in his old rainy-day normal state of wet and cold and angry, but his new rainy-day normal state of wet and cold and resigned and _ridiculous_.

That's just work days, though. Rainy days off? Ray fucking loves those, now.

Because something about rainy mornings just mellows Fraser the hell out. Ray grumbles halfway awake and goes through the "grey light, pitterpatter on the windows and swoosh in the streets, _shit_ , oh wait, day off!" thought process and rolls over to look at Fraser, and Fraser has this slow sleepy smile. Like the rain just melted all of his Puritan must-get-stuff-accomplished-ness away. (Ray's not completely sure Canada had Puritans, exactly, but something _like_ that.)

Fraser smiles, and instead of bounding out of bed like most weekend mornings, with a list of Things They Should Really Get Done, instead of reminding Ray that they need to get to the farmer's market and the hardware store and the shoe repair shop, he wiggles closer to Ray and gets his arms around him and...snuggles.

Ray scoots in even closer and snuggles back, and they just lie there for a while making little rumbly "mmmm" sounds at each other. Eventually, though, they start snuggling with _intent_ , with nudges of their hips against each other, and finally Fraser snaps and pins Ray down and kisses him fiercely, all the slow sweetness gone. He nips his way down Ray's chest and stomach and takes Ray's cock in his mouth. He sucks hard, does this rolling rippling thing with his tongue under the head of Ray's dick that makes the tugging even harder, and Ray moans and thrashes his head back and forth and digs his fingers into Fraser's shoulders and comes.

Fraser kisses his way back up, babbling something about "you" and "beautiful" and "you, I, just, you" and Ray loves making Fraser incoherent so, so much that he can't even think of words for it, which is--ironic, or something.

Fraser kisses Ray some more and then kneels up over him and jacks himself, not even trying to take it slow, just going for it like he _needs_ to come all over Ray now now _now_ , and Ray lies there in a blissed-out heap and enjoys the fantasticness of that.

When Fraser's done he collapses right back onto Ray, and even then he's not all "must shower and leap into the day," he just tucks his face into Ray's neck and nuzzles and licks.

Ray gets up just enough energy to get his arms around Fraser, and it's so good, just wrapped up in each other, here, warm and--okay, not _dry_ , but the good kind of sticky. He slides a hand up into Fraser's hair and pets and strokes, and Fraser makes a rumbly noise that Ray can feel vibrating from Fraser's ribs into his own.

"You ever play jacks?" Ray murmurs.

"Mmmm, a rudimentary version, with pebbles," Fraser says, and that is one of Ray's favorite things about the guy, that he never seems bewildered by why you brought up a subject. Never ever asks what the hell that has to do with anything, just rolls with it.

"How high'd you get?"

"Fivesies, on occasion."

"Hah, sevensies. I could kick your ass."

"Well, if I had a chance to practice with standard equipment--"

"It's a poor player who blames his pebbles, Fraser," Ray says, and Fraser huffs out a laugh into his neck. Ray smiles and closes his eyes. He listens to the rain and pets Fraser's hair, for a long time.

 

\---end---


End file.
